“How long is this going to last?” asked one of the men.
Mune shrugged. He had no idea.
“Who decided the order of the advance?” asked another soldier.
“We live to serve,” Mune said. It had become his creed, and he’d found comfort in it. Hawthorne was the only man he knew who could defeat the Highborn and now these genocidal cyborgs. To help Hawthorne and to save Earth, he’d volunteered for the mission.
“In case you’re wondering,” the pilot said into their headphones, “that little dot there is our destination.”
A blue circle appeared around a dot fractionally brighter than the stars around it.
“If the Orion-ship is turned around so it can decelerate, how can we see the dot?” asked a soldier
“Rearward facing cameras,” the pilot said. “Are there any other bright questions?”
A massive explosion occurred to the left in the screen. It filled the monitor with intense white light. Some of the soldiers near Mune shouted in alarm. He flinched, and to his surprise, he found himself trembling.
“What was that?” a soldier shouted.
“Scratch one of our Orion-ships, good buddies,” the pilot said, her voice sounding strained for the first time.
“Lasers?” asked Mune.
“Not a chance,” said the pilot, “not against an Orion blast-shield. That was a whale of a torpedo.”
Another huge explosion and fiery white light filled the monitor.
The pilot cursed loudly in their headphones, letting them know it was another lost Orion-ship.
“We should have stayed on Earth,” a soldier said.
“We serve here,” said Mune. He wasn’t aware of it, but his face was contorted into a horrible grimace.
“Give us just a few more minutes, you freaking machines,” the pilot hissed.
The next few minutes saw blooms of orange explosions in the distance. There were stabbing red rays and a thick column of sparkling light. The small dot had expanded now into the greatest thing in the void, about something fist-sized as seen on the monitor.
“We’re going to detach,” the pilot said.
A sudden jolt caused Mune to shift heavily to his left.
“We did it!” the pilot whooped. “Now we have a chance. Are you boys ready?”
“Ready,” Mune said hoarsely.
“Then hang on,” the pilot said. “We’re going in.”
-61-
“Grim,” said Omi.
Marten was bent forward in his seat. He had been watching the battle, with an elbow on a knee and his fist clenched. The cyborgs had destroyed two Orion-ships before the attack-craft could detach. Then attack-craft from four big Orion-ships spayed outward like shotgun pellets.
Omi’s comment came from the fate of the four surviving Orion-ships. After launching their attack-craft, the big nuclear-bomb-powered vessels accelerated once again. They accelerated faster than at any time in the journey. A torpedo took out another one. But the three surviving ships crashed into asteroids.
“People piloted those,” Marten whispered.
“Better than being captured by cyborgs and turned into one,” said Omi.
Now the Orion-launched attack-craft decelerated, attempting to land and unload their soldiers. On too many asteroids, however, point-defense cannons opened up, and counter-missiles rose up to destroy the landing craft.
“It’s all suicide,” said Omi.
Even though he knew he should try to remain calm, Marten couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. The ultra-lasers from the Doom Stars still smashed into the asteroids. And now another mass wave of HB missiles came up.
Marten squinted. With an effort of will, he uncurled his fingers and moved toggles. He wanted to know what kind of missiles those were. The information startled him, although he knew it shouldn’t. “Those hold Highborn commandoes,” he whispered.
“Huh?” asked Omi.
“The next wave,” said Marten, “the new missiles. They’re filled with Highborn shock-troopers.”
“Great. After that mass expenditure of cyborg-hardware, at least a few of them should get through to the asteroids.”
Marten glanced sharply at Omi.
“Trouble?” asked the Korean.
Marten glared at the main screen. “The self-centered hypocrite, he planned for this.”
“Who did?” asked Omi. “What are you talking about?”
“The order of attack,” Marten said. “This is Grand Admiral Cassius’s plan. Do you remember he berated me for slowing down?”
“Sure I remember.”
“He engineered it this way,” Marten said.
Omi gave him a blank look.
“He sent the Orion-ships in first to take the hits,” Marten said. “He used them to absorb damage so his precious Highborn wouldn’t take any scratches.”
Omi’s features hardened. “He was trying to use us.”
“It’s time we changed that,” Marten said.
“How?”
“Yeah, that’s going to be the trick,” said Marten.
-62-
As Hawthorne looked up, small Colonel Manteuffel entered the underground Joho office. The officer wore a gun and a grim expression.
“Cone wishes to speak with you, sir,” Manteuffel said.
“Have you enlisted the other officers yet?” asked Hawthorne.
“I have. But Cone, sir, she’s angry, and I think more than a little worried.” Manteuffel hesitated.
Hawthorne had been watching the space battle through the monitor on his desk. This was a cramped room, lacking windows because it was underground. The recycled air was too cold and felt too much like a morgue.
“In your estimation,” Hawthorne said, “is Cone worried enough to do something rash?”
“I’m not a security expert, sir.”
“You’d better become one, Colonel, and quickly.”
“Why me, sir?” asked Manteuffel. “I still don’t understand. I’m a cybertank expert.”
These past days, Hawthorne had made some swift and critical security changes. Cone remained underground here in the Joho Command Bunker. But her people no longer guarded anything. In fact, they were no longer her people, as Hawthorne had stripped her of authority. Colonel Manteuffel was now the Chief of Hawthorne’s Personal Security. Manteuffel’s people were all higher-grade officers, and daily practiced at a firing range to gain needed proficiency.
“The easy answer is that I trust you,” Hawthorne said.
“Because of what happened with the cybertank several years ago?”
“That’s right,” Hawthorne said. “You were with me in the bleak days. You risked everything then because you believed in me and in my plan. I want true believers around me, people I can implicitly trust, and who make wise decisions.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“What does Cone have to say to me?” asked Hawthorne.
“It’s concerning the Free Earth Corps.”
Hawthorne sat back, picking up a smooth metallic ball. Rolling it in his palm, he wondered what was the correct course of action. After watching the space battle and the destruction of the Orion-ships, he realized that Cassius was too clever for him. It wasn’t only the order of the landings, but the use of the Doom Stars. It was obvious now that Cassius meant to stand back and beam the asteroids with the ultra-heavy lasers. The Grand Admiral wasn’t going to risk his super-ships. The Fifth Fleet remained with the Gustavus Adolphus. If the battleships wished to fight, they’d have to close in and likely face destruction. If the battleships remained where they were, after the fight with the asteroids, those SU warships would be hostage to the Doom Star.
“I have to strike before Cassius does,” Hawthorne said.
“Sir?” asked Manteuffel.
“But if I strike too soon, Cassius might decide to let the asteroids hit Earth.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Manteuffel said.
“No? Well, let Cone in. Then you stand in the corner over there and listen to our conversation. Afterward, I’m sure you’ll understand. Oh, by the way, make sure she’d unarmed.”